


assorted drabbles and ficlets

by impertinency



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ADWD spoilers, ASOS Spoilers, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Future Fic, Gen, Half-Sibling Incest, M/M, Multi, Post - A Dance With Dragons, Post - A Storm of Swords, Post - Red Wedding, Pre-A Game of Thrones, Pre-Series, Prompt Fic, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-26 10:15:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 8,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impertinency/pseuds/impertinency
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various ASOIAF fics written for tumblr or livejournal prompts. Pairings are listed as the chapter titles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jon/Robb - Post Red Wedding I

**Author's Note:**

> Most of these fics have been posted on either tumblr or livejournal, but I thought it would be nice to have them all in one place. I'll update in batches whenever I have some new ones to post here.
> 
>  
> 
> Anonymous prompted: _a short fic about jon finding out about the red wedding pls?_
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://impertinency.tumblr.com/post/56056689319/can-you-write-a-short-fic-about-jon-finding-out-about).

 

A raven comes, bearing words as dark as its wings.

_The King in the North is dead. Slaughtered at the Twins. The Boltons hold the North._

Jon stares at the letter until the ink begins to blur against the parchment, until his hands shake and his cheeks are wet with tears. There’s a steady stream of sorrow and anger and despair lodged deep beneath his heart, and he wants to ride south to the Twins and King’s Landing and slay every man responsible for his brother’s death.

_I should have been there with him_ , he thinks. _To fight by his side. To die by his side._

He’d had his chance to join Robb, but instead he chose to stay amongst the snow and ice, amongst the crows and wildlings. He’d chosen honor and duty over the love he had for his brother.

The brother he’ll never see again, who will never greet him as he rides back to Winterfell, who will never laugh and drink and jape with him. Knowing that he’ll never see his brother - his best friend, his other half - again makes him ache with a pain that’s worse than any injury he’s received on the battlefield.

Jon clutches the note tight in his fist, wonders if he could have prevented this, if he could have saved Robb. Wonders why he wasn’t there to die alongside him. _The Lannisters and Freys and Boltons have taken my family from me_ , he thinks wildly, desperately. _The North remembers, and the wolves will have their revenge._

Later, after he’s drowned his sorrows in wine and ale, after he’s shed all the tears he has to give, he goes to sleep and dreams of a boy with a bright smile and happy laugh, of a boy who bid him goodbye long ago and had snowflakes melting in his hair.


	2. Jon/Theon - affectionate teasing & drunk sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompted: _Jon/Theon, affectionate teasing if you want to write fluff or mourning Robb if you want to write angst._
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://impertinency.tumblr.com/post/56072638892/jon-theon-affectionate-teasing-if-you-want-to-write).

 

By the third bottle of wine, Jon’s head begins to feel fuzzy, his vision becomes blurry, and his balance is decidedly off when he stands. He falters as he takes a step, frowning when he misses the handle to his chamber door. He swipes at it once, twice, three times before it finally gives in, and he stumbles into his room, Theon right behind him. Jon falls onto his bed in a graceless heap of limbs, letting out a muffled grunt when Theon lands on top of him.

“You’re heavy, get off,” Jon grumbles, trying to push him off.

Theon laughs, his breath warm against the skin of Jon’s neck. It makes him shiver, then makes him frown as he tries even harder to squirm out from underneath Theon.  
“Stop moving, Snow,” Theon says, his voice low and husky. He slides a hand down Jon’s spine, fingers ghosting over the small of his back before coming to rest on Jon’s hip. He slips his hand underneath the hem of Jon’s shirt, lets his fingers dance across the pale, soft skin.

Theon bites down on the skin where Jon’s neck and collarbone meet, kisses and licks the mark he made after. His lips are gentle against Jon’s skin, a far cry from Theon’s usual brash, violent actions. Jon sucks in a breath, swallowing the whine that threatens to escape. Theon chuckles, noses at the curls at the base of Jon’s neck as his hand slip lower, as it curves over the swell of Jon’s ass. Jon does whine then, needy and loud and wanton, and he pushes back into Theon’s touch.

“I like it when you moan like a whore,” Theon says.

“Shut up, Greyjoy,” Jon snaps.

“Don’t tell me what to do, bastard.”

Once, Jon would have gotten annoyed at the words, but there’s no bite behind Theon’s words. Instead, it makes Jon snort and roll his eyes, makes him shimmy away from Theon so he can shed his breeches and shirt, throwing them off to the side where they land in a heap on the floor. He pushes Theon back against the bed, roughly strips away Theon’s clothing, ignoring Theon’s cry of indignation. Jon plants a string of quick, messy kisses from Theon’s neck down to his thighs, smirks when Theon lets out a loud groan the moment Jon takes Theon’s cock in his mouth.

Theon’s loud when he comes, and it’s sloppy and messy and utterly lacking in grace or skill. After, when Jon’s made Theon return the favor, he flops against the bed, Theon heavy and warm against his back.

“I still hate you,” Jon says. “I hate your stupid voice and your stupid smile.”

“I hate your stupid hair,” Theon says, voice thick and slow and drowsy.

Jon means to reply but the combination of alcohol and orgasm makes him sleepy and content, and he drifts off into a dreamless sleep.

Robb finds them the next morning, a tangled mess of limbs curled up together on Jon’s small bed, and laughs himself sick as Jon and Theon flush and try to explain that it’s really not what it looks like.


	3. Robb/Theon - Modern AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompted: _Robb/Theon, one of them dies and has to learn to cope without the other._
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://impertinency.tumblr.com/post/56077248099/robb-theon-one-of-them-dies-and-has-to-learn-to-cope).

 

Robb dies on a Sunday afternoon. It’s sunny and warm and bright when Theon gets the call, and he feels his blood turn to ice and the air seep from his lungs. _It was an accident_ , Snow says, his voice shaky and tight. _He was going to the Frey’s about the business merger and his car was sideswiped. They said he died at the scene._

Theon hangs up before Jon can finish. Throws his phone at the wall where it shatters and breaks, the pieces scattering across the room.

He spends the next week drunk, spends the next two days after that puking into his toilet until Asha carts him off to the hospital. He has a mild case of alcohol poisoning, and he swears and fights and refuses when Asha forces him to stay overnight for observation.

Theon avoids everyone for the next month. He doesn’t answer his phone, doesn’t respond to emails or text messages.

He doesn’t go to the wake or the funeral.

Instead, he sits in his apartment – _their_ apartment – and tries to remember the sound of Robb’s voice and the feel of his hands and the color of his hair. This had been their second chance, a new start after Theon made mistakes and Robb had slowly, but genuinely forgiven him.

 _It should have been me_ , he thinks. He thinks of all the times he hated Robb for the way he was so confident about his position in life, thinks of the way he once seethed with jealous over the smallest actions and words. It seems foolish and petty now, and he hates himself for ever letting that get in the way of their relationship. _I’d take it all back to have you here again._

He lets his thoughts – his regrets, his pain, his utter desolation – wrap around his heart and tear and squeeze until he’s no longer able to feel. He drowns his sorrow in the whiskey Robb used to drink until he feels numb and can sleep without dreaming.

A month passes, and then another, and before he knows it six months have passed. And then one day, he finds that it no longer hurts when he thinks about Robb. There’s still an ache deep in his heart, but he no longer reaches for Robb at night, no longer turns to tell him something that will make him laugh. He can think of the happier times, of the smiles and laughter and kisses.

He goes to visit Robb’s grave that day. He stares at the granite headstone and, for the first time, knows that there will come a day when the memory of Robb no longer haunts him.


	4. Jon/Robb - Post Red Wedding II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [robbstark](http://robbstark.tumblr.com) prompted: _Jon finding Robb's corpse post RW. YOU ASKED FOR IT._ (ray is an awful human being for prompting such a fic)
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://impertinency.tumblr.com/post/56082842847/jon-finding-robbs-corpse-post-rw-you-asked-for-it). 
> 
> Warning for body mutilation and gore.

 

Jon rides south, away from the ice and snow, from honor and duty, from his brothers and his vows. There’s a letter tucked beneath his furs and leathers, the parchment crinkled and faded and stained with tears.

 _Robb was the only brother left to me_ , he thinks, _and now even he is gone._

He’s not ashamed of the way he cried when the raven came, of the way he struck his sword against the walls of his chamber in anger and despair. Nor is he ashamed of the way he deserted his brothers in their hour of need, of how he saddled a horse and called Ghost to his side and spirited away once night fell.

He doesn’t know why he rides for the Twins. There is nothing left for him there, nothing he can do to bring his brother back. But he still goes, a seed of hope buried within his chest that maybe the message he received was a lie, that maybe Robb was taken prisoner.

He arrives at the castle midday, approaches from the side to avoid unwanted attention. The air is rife with the acrid stench of rotting flesh, and it fills his lungs and makes him choke and heave, his eyes watering. Jon takes no more than two steps toward the castle when his eyes find the corpse hanging like a trophy atop the bridge.

 _Oh gods, Robb_ , he thinks. He doesn’t want to believe his eyes, doesn’t want to believe such a horrendous sight is all the remains of his brother.

His stomach rolls in horror and disgust and beside him Ghost whines, nips at his hand and tries to nudge him away. But Jon can’t leave, can’t do anything but stare at the monster the Freys and Boltons created with his brother’s corpse.

Jon doesn’t even hear the shouts coming from the castle, doesn’t feel the sharp twinge of the arrows that lodge themselves in his shoulder and leg and chest. Someone hits him from behind, and there’s a burst of pain behind his eyes. He chokes on his breath as he falls to the ground, and the last sight he sees is Robb’s corpse swaying in the wind.


	5. Robb/Jeyne - Modern AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompted: _Robb/Jeyne: miscarriage_
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://impertinency.tumblr.com/post/56095238325/robb-jeyne-miscarriage).

 

They lose the twins in May. Jeyne’s by herself when it happens, calls Robb in a flurry of tears, barely gets the words out before Robb is rushing to the hospital. They’d planned to name the babies Eddard and Brandon, had already told their family and friends, had spent days decorating the nursery in shades of yellow and grey.

Robb holds Jeyne in his arms, soothes her as she cries and wails and sobs. His heart aches when he thinks of the two sons he’ll never get to hold in his arms. _This isn’t fair_ , he thinks. _It wasn’t supposed to be like this._

Weeks pass and Jeyne starts to grow distant. She avoids the nursery, avoids his touch, avoids anything that makes her think of their lost children. Robb tries to coax her out of her grief, tries to steel himself against his own grief to better help her. _I can be strong for you_ , he wants to say, _but please come back to me. I can’t do this alone._

It takes time, and while Jeyne doesn’t quite stop mourning, she becomes herself again. She starts laughing, starts smiling, kisses him in the morning and afternoon and evening. Robb waits for her to come to him, and when she does, he kisses her long and slow and deep. Pours his love and affection into each kiss, each touch.

A year later, Jeyne gives birth to a daughter. They name her Maggy, after Jeyne’s great-grandmother. She has Robb’s hair and Jeyne’s eyes, laughs whenever Robb talks to her, giggles whenever Jeyne sings to her. She has Robb wrapped around her tiny little finger from the moment she’s born.

Two years later, their son is born. Robb takes one look at his son, with his dark hair and his grey eyes, and names him Jon.


	6. Jon & Robb - Pre-series & Post ADWD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompted: _Jon found out about his Targaryen blood and killed the King in the North, his brother, when he refused to swear fealty to the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms. What does Jon feel now?_
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://impertinency.tumblr.com/post/56250297136/jon-found-out-about-his-targaryen-blood-and-killed-the).

 

Sometimes after they’ve escaped from their daily lessons they race around Winterfell, yelling and laughing as they pretend to be famous conquerors from history. They argue over who gets to play the kings of old, use wooden swords that they wish were steel, pretend that Winterfell is their castle to rule over.

Maester Luwin teaches them about Torrhen Stark and Aegon the Conquerer when they’re seven, and Jon and Robb spend the afternoon pretending to be the last King in the North and his bastard half-brother, pretending that they’re long dead warriors riding south to challenge Aegon the Conquerer and his army of dragons.

The next time they play the game, Jon chooses to be Aegon Targaryen and he duels with his brother, grins when he makes Robb stumble back, his wooden sword falling to the ground with a dull thud.

“You have to swear fealty to me now,” Jon says. “I’m the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“No.” Robb’s voice is stubborn and proud as he frowns up at Jon. “I refuse.”

“Then you’ll have to die.” He whacks the sword against Robb’s side, laughing when Robb glares at him. Robb yanks on his arm, pulling him down onto the ground, and they spend the next twenty minutes tussling until they’re sweaty and dirty and tired.

Years later, Jon watches a group of children playing in the courtyard of King’s Landing and thinks back on that moment. Robb has been dead for long enough that his face is no more than a blur in Jon’s memory, but there’s an ache in his heart that appears whenever he thinks of his brother.

Jon wonders what would have happened if his brother had lived. _Would have you played the game, Robb?_ he wonders, wistful and sad and longing. _Would you have bent the knee to and sworn fealty to the dragons?_

He doesn’t know whether Robb would have bent the knee or fought for northern independence. But Jon knows, deep in his heart, that had Robb chosen to fight, he would have no hesitation in fighting beside him.


	7. Jon, Robb, Arya, & Sansa - Pre-series

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompted: _prompt for the tumblr war fic meme: pre-series, stark children, sibling bonding_
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://impertinency.tumblr.com/post/57271601494/prompt-for-the-tumblr-war-fic-meme-pre-series-stark).

 

They’re far too old to be playing such games. But they’ve no lessons or chores left for the day, and the weather is too nice to stay cooped up inside. So when Sansa and Arya, in an unusual moment of sisterly bonding, had asked them to play, he and Robb had been unable to refuse.

Jon and Robb head for the ruins in the far corner of the castle, mostly out of habit, with Arya and Sansa trailing along behind them. Robb plops down on a stray stone block when they get there, stretches his long legs out as he leans back, tipping his face up toward the sun as he lazily asks the girls how they want to spend the afternoon.

There are a few old wooden swords scattered about, remnants of Jon and Robb’s days as children, when they’d sneak away to practice sword fighting on their own. Arya eyes them gleefully, suggesting that they reenact one of the wars of old. Sansa frowns, says she wants to play a game with knights and princesses, claiming that it’s the only proper game to play.

"I don’t want to be a princess," Arya whines. She grabs one of the swords and swishes it through the air sharply. "I want to be a knight and stab my enemies to death."

Robb laughs. “There’s more to it than just stabbing.”

"As if you’d know. You’ve yet to wield more than a wooden sword," Jon says, his tone light and teasing.

Robb rolls his eyes, half-heartedly punching Jon on the shoulder. “And yet I can still beat you in the training yard, Snow.”

"I’d beat you _both_ if I was allowed to train,” Arya says. She grins as she thwacks Jon in the side lightly with her sword.

Jon smiles. “I don’t doubt it. You’ve more grace than Robb. He may be stronger than me, but he still swings his sword like a blundering oaf.”

Robb lets out a cry of protest, but it’s Sansa who comes immediately to his defense. “Robb could beat you both. He’ll be the best swordsman in Winterfell one day,” she says loyally. “They’ll write songs of his bravery on the battlefield.”

"Thank you, my lady," Robb says. He grins and bows deeply before her. "I’d be honored to be the knight that defends you from these two ruffians."

"Of course, good ser," Sansa says. She shrieks with delight when Robb scoops her up in his arms and deposits her high atop a pile of broken stones. 

Robb grabs a wooden sword of his own, tosses another at Jon with a wide grin. Beside them, Arya claps her hands in glee while Sansa laughs from her pretend castle tower, cheering Robb on as he slashes at Jon and Arya. Beside him, Arya is full of her own laughter, grinning and yelling as she hits at Robb with wild abandon. Though unused to using even a fake sword, she’s nimbler and quicker than either of them, and darts between them toward Sansa.

She lets out a yell of surprise when Robb grabs her around the middle and lifts her off the ground. “Hey, no fair!” she complains, struggling against his grip.

“I’m just protecting my princess,” Robb says. “Not my fault if Jon is a piss poor fighting partner.”

“Jon’s just preparing for a surprise attack,” Arya says.

“It’s not a surprise if you tell him about it,” Jon says, amused. All the same, he hits Robb on the shoulder and then the side with the flat side of his wooden sword, making Robb grunt in surprise, his arms loosening enough that Arya is able to squirm out of his grip.

“Serves you right, Stark,” he says when Robb turns to attack him. Somehow, their swords end up dropping to the ground as a wrestling match ensues. They tussle with each other amongst the dirt and stone, laughing while Sansa roots for Robb and Arya for Jon. Robb ends up pinning Jon to the ground, and he looms over him, his cheeks flushed as red as his hair.

“Do you yield, Snow?” he asks, and his grin is wide and bright and happy.

“Fine, I yield,” Jon says, huffing out a breath as he tries to buck Robb off of him. “Now get off me, you’re heavy.”

Robb laughs and obligingly rolls off to the side, giving Jon a hand to help him to his feet. They stumble over to the girls who’ve have turned their attention elsewhere, with Arya swinging her sword against the stones and Sansa making a circlet out of the few wildflowers that have popped up between the gaps in the stone floor.

“A Queen of Love and Beauty shouldn’t be making her own crown,” Robb says, taking the flower crown from her hands and depositing it gently on her head.

Sansa giggles, reaching up to wrap her arms around Robb’s neck in a loose hug. Arya makes a fake gagging noise nearby, and it makes Jon laugh and ruffle her hair. “Come on, little sister, I’ll teach you how to properly swing that sword of yours.”


	8. Jon/Robb - marriage vows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompted: _robb/jon, marriage_
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://impertinency.tumblr.com/post/57466565014/robb-jon-marriage).

 

His tent is warm, heady with the scent of wine and sex and sweat. Their clothes are strewn about on the floor and their wolves are curled together near the tent flap, guarding them from unwanted and unexpected visitors. It’s so reminiscent of their days together back in Winterfell that it makes something in Robb’s chest ache.

Nothing’s been the same since they rode south, Winterfell at their backs and a war on the horizon. There’s less time for stolen moments between them, less time for Robb to press Jon down into the furs and kiss him breathless, less time to surrender himself to Jon’s clever hands and warm mouth. In Winterfell they’d been lazy and affectionate and teasing even with the knowledge that they could get caught hanging over their heads. And later, once they had gone to war, there was still something fond in their nights together, something warm and comfortable even if they did have moments of frantic lust and desperation.

But now something’s irrevocably changed between them. Jon is tense by his side, the muscles in his shoulders and back coiled thick and tight beneath his skin. He’s curled in on himself, facing away from Robb, and Robb doesn’t have to look to know that Jon’s scowling.

Robb sighs, prods at his shoulder until Jon relents and turns over. He doesn’t meet Robb’s eyes, and it makes something sick and nervous uncoil in Robb’s stomach. Jon hasn’t said anything since Robb held counsel earlier in the evening, since his mother had come back from treating with the Freys. Robb had left the tent as soon as he made his acceptance of the deal clear, had been surprised when it was Theon who followed him instead of Jon.

“It’s not like I had a choice,” Robb says. “I don’t want to marry some girl I’ve never met.”

“I know,” Jon grumbles. “You were always going to wed some pretty lord’s daughter.”

Robb frowns, pushes himself up on the bed until he’s looming over Jon. Jon’s jaw is clenched, his eyes fixed on the linen tent flaps, his face awash in anger.

“Who are you jealous of, Snow?” he asks softly. “Me or her?”

It’s with some satisfaction that he watches Jon’s eyes dart back to him in surprise. Robb has always known that he would marry some day, always known that he’d have little choice in the matter, but it doesn’t mean that he’s happy about the arrangement with the Freys. But he’s long since resigned himself to doing his duty for his family and his kingdom.

“I’m not sure,” Jon finally says. A muscle in his cheek twitches, and Robb knows that he’s lying.

He smiles, leans down and kisses Jon, draws out the kiss until it turns into something tender and slow and reassuring.

"In another life, I would have chosen you," he whispers, breath ghosting against Jon’s lips. “In any life where we’d be allowed to be together, had you been a cousin or a woman or anyone but my brother, I’d have chosen you. You know I’d choose you over anyone.”

Jon looks up at him from beneath his lashes with a strange mixture of doubt and hope. It makes something tight form in Robb’s throat, makes him kiss Jon deeper and harder and fiercer. Jon lets out a soft whimper, wraps a hand around Robb’s neck and draws him closer, tangling his fingers in Robb’s auburn curls. 

“I’m yours and you’re mine,” Robb whispers. He nuzzles his face into the curve of Jon’s neck, kisses Jon’s skin as he mumbles the words, his voice shaky and quiet and nervous. “From this day until the end of my days.”

“ _Robb_.”

Jon shoves at his shoulder, pushing him until Robb’s the one with his back pressed against the bed and Jon’s the one staring down at him with wide, surprised eyes.  
“Don’t ruin the moment, Jon,” he says. He can feel the blush creeping across his face, and he feels ridiculous, knows that he sounds as foolish as the knights and lovers in all the old stories and songs.

“Robb, you stupid idiot.” But there’s something soft in Jon’s face, something wistful and happy and pleased in his tone.

And Robb knows that the words don’t truly mean anything, knows that the old or new gods would never approve of such a union. But he doesn’t care. He’d do anything to keep Jon by his side until death, even if it meant offending the gods.


	9. Jon/Robb - first kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompted: _jon tells robb about his plans to take the black and robb becomes angry and then they kiss for the first time. they're confused but they like it._
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://impertinency.tumblr.com/post/59119286513/prompt-jon-tells-robb-about-his-plans-to-take-the).

 

Robb doesn't remember the last time he was this angry. There's a hot, piercing rage that courses through him, that makes his hands tremble with the urge to hit something. Or _someone_.

"I can't believe you're leaving," he says. He slams his fists against the stone wall of his chambers with a snarl, angry and distressed and annoyed. Robb takes little pleasure in the shock that blossoms across Jon's face at the action, in the way that Jon frowns and looks away. "Is the thought of staying here that horrible that you have to run away to the _Wall_?"

A muscle in Jon's jaw twitches, his mouth set in a grim line. "I have no choice. With Father leaving, your mother won't want me to stay. There's nothing left for me here."

“That’s ridiculous,” Robb says. And seven hells, he wants to shake Jon, to wipe that scowl off his face until he understands how stupid he’s being. “Of course you have a reason to stay.”

“What, to run after you and do your bidding when you become Lord of Winterfell?” He turns to go, but Robb reaches for his arm, intending to pull him back because he is _not_ going to let that be the end of the conversation. 

"Let me go, Stark," he says, his voice carrying a note of warning.

"Not until you listen to me," he says. Jon tries to shrug him off, tries to twist out of his grip with an angry scowl, and Robb loses all semblance of patience and pushes Jon up against the wall with a surprising amount of force. He’s always been stronger than Jon, has always been able to best him at swords or when they wrestle, but he’s never once taken advantage of the strength he has over his brother. He takes that advantage now, watches as Jon’s eyes widen in surprise and hint of wariness.

“You don’t need to leave,” he says, his tone dangerously close to commanding. It makes Jon stiffen in outrage, the way he does whenever someone tries to wield authority over him.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t,” he says, pushing at Robb’s shoulder in an attempt to shake him loose.

“Because I don’t want you to,” Robb says. 

Some indistinguishable emotion flashes across Jon’s face as he stares at Robb, eyes wide and dark, mouth parted as though he’s about to speak. Robb has no idea what possess him to glance down at Jon’s lip, no idea why his stomach flutters with anxiety. And he certainly has no idea what posses him to lean forward and kiss Jon.

The kiss is awkward and clumsy, desperate and rough and angry all at once. Jon releases a shocked noise against his lips and he hesitates for a fraction of a second before he’s returning the kiss, pouring just as much emotion into it as Robb. Robb pushes Jon closer against the wall, moaning when he feels Jon’s erection through his trousers.

This is _wrong_. Jon is his _brother_ and this isn’t what brothers do. He’s confused by this sudden, all consuming desire to kiss Jon senseless, to drag him away from the wall and toward the bed until they’re naked and tangled together.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Jon murmurs. His face is flushed and his lips are red and swollen, and the sight makes Robb’s cock twitch in interest, makes something sharp and needy stir in his gut.

“No one has to know,” Robb says. 

The corner of Jon’s mouth quirks in faint amusement and he brings a hand up to cup the back of Robb’s neck, drawing Robb in for another kiss. “Is that supposed to be an incentive, Stark? It’s not very persuasive.”

“Shut up,” Robb says. He wraps his fingers around Jon’s wrist, pulling him over to the bed. He pushes Jon down on the furs and straddles his waist, bracketing his arms on either side of Jon’s head as he leans down to kiss him, until the awkwardness and anger melt away into something soft and affectionate.

When he pulls away, Jon stares up at him with such wonder and fondness that it makes Robb want to curl his arms around his brother and trap him in this room forever. He rests his forehead against Jon’s, closes his eyes and feels his rage and desperation seep out of him only to be replaced by an aching sadness. 

“Don’t leave, Jon.”

“Let’s not talk about that right now,” Jon says.

And instead Jon kisses him again and again, tender and loving and in a way that Robb knows he’ll remember until the end of his days.


	10. Jon/Robb - Post ACOK

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lita-of-jupiter prompted: _Can I ask for a Jon/Robb fic where Robb finds out his brother is missing beyond the wall after the ranging? We always get the RW discovery but this could have happened too_
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://impertinency.tumblr.com/post/59700990674/can-i-ask-for-a-jon-robb-fic-where-robb-finds-out-his).

 

He receives the news as he’s making his way to the Twins for his uncle’s wedding. The scrap of parchment is wrinkled and torn, and has been passed between at least a dozen people before Robb finally receives it. The ink is faded and barely legible by the time the note is placed in Robb’s hands.

News from the Wall, he’s told. And while the letter is typical of what he normally receives from the Watch – updates on the wildling situation, requests for more men – there’s one line that makes the blood drain from his face and the air leave his lungs: _Jon Snow has gone missing beyond the Wall._

The letter is signed by a name Robb doesn’t recognize, and includes more information that he should probably pay attention to, but his eyes keep drifting over the same line. Because Jon can’t be missing, can’t be dead.

 _Let him be okay_ , he thinks, something desperate and wild curling in the pit of his stomach. _Please, let him be alive._

There’s a sharp ache in his heart when he thinks that Jon may be one more person he’s failed, one more person who was stolen from him. Robb hates that he can’t abandon his duties because right now he wants nothing more than to march north to take Winterfell from the Ironborn. He wants to avenge Bran and Rickon, to find Arya, to rescue Sansa from King’s Landing. And most of all, he wants to march north to the Wall and find Jon, even if it means braving the snow and ice, wildlings and wights.

 _After the wedding_ , he promises himself. _I’ll go find Jon then._


	11. Jon/Theon - Modern AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompted: _jon/theon, the progression of being fuck buddies to being in an actual relationship_. 
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://impertinency.tumblr.com/post/59418932875/jon-theon-the-progression-of-being-fuck-buddies-to).
> 
> (I might actually turn this into a longer oneshot at some point because I'm strangely attached to it.)

 

They’re not romantic. They don’t hold hands in public or cuddle on the couch or whisper endearments in the bedroom. They fuck and fight and insult each other. It’s habit, borne of a long standing rivalry that somehow transformed into a strange rough-sex-and-no-feelings type of relationship.

They’re not friends and they’re not lovers. Theon doesn’t particularly like either term, especially when it comes to Jon Snow. Theon doesn’t like much about Jon, but he does like the way Jon’s pretty mouth looks when it’s wrapped around his cock and he likes the way Jon moans like a whore when Theon tugs on his hair. And he especially likes the nights where he bends Jon over the couch or presses him against the wall and fucks him until he’s begging for more, bruises already forming on his pale skin. (Theon will _never_ admit that he likes the nights where Jon fucks him rough and fast as well, where Jon kisses and nips at his lips hard enough that he draws blood.)

And while Theon hates Jon’s stupid scowl and stupid hair and stupid sense of honor and duty, they have a good thing going. They each get what they need and don’t have to deal with the lingering doubt about whether or not to stay the night, messy morning-afters, or awkward encounters outside of the bedroom.

But then six months go by and Theon wakes up one day and realizes that he hasn’t actually fucked anyone else in almost half a year. That he hasn’t _wanted_ to fuck anyone in almost half a year.

Naturally, he panics.

He gets drunk enough to bemoan his sudden monogamy to Robb, who just looks at him in confusion and says, “But I thought you two were dating.”

 _Fuck_ , he thinks.

“Did Snow tell you that?” he asks.

“No,” Robb says, frowning in something resembling concern. “I just assumed. Neither of you are very discreet.”

 _Fuck_ , he thinks again. And then, completely irrationally, _this is all Snow’s fault._

Theon doesn’t do relationships. He doesn’t have emotional connections or intimate relationships with anyone, let alone someone like Jon Snow.

Except, when he gets back to his apartment that night it’s with a sense of dawning horror that he realizes he might actually be dating Jon Snow. There’s a pile of Jon’s clothing in the corner of his bedroom and a few of his books scattered around the living room. There’s even a box of the cereal he likes in the kitchen cupboard. And when he thinks about it, Theon knows that he’s left clothes over at Jon’s place, that he’s made sure that Jon always keeps a pack of Theon’s favorite cigarettes somewhere in his apartment.

 _Fuck_ , Theon thinks for the third time in one night.

So, of course, he decides that the best course of action is to drunk dial Jon.

“I hate you. This is all your fault,” Theon says as soon as Jon picks up.

“What the hell, Greyjoy?” he says, his voice annoyed. “It’s three in the morning.”

“You’re a sullen, arrogant bastard,” Theon says. “I _don’t_ like you, no matter what Robb says.”

There a pause, and then Jon asks, “Are you drunk?”

“No,” Theon snaps, though the waver in his voice gives him away. He’s a little annoyed that Jon didn’t even comment on the insult (which, Theon thinks, may have something to do with the way it came out as more of an annoyed whine than anything even close to resembling an insult).

He hears Jon sigh on the other end of the phone, followed by the rustle of clothes and bed sheets. “You’re such an idiot. Just stay there and don’t do anything stupid,” Jon says, hanging up before Theon can so much as respond.

Theon scowls down at his phone and contemplates throwing it across the room. He was supposed to get in the last word, was supposed to tell Jon how much he hated him for making this entire situation more complicated than it should be. It was supposed to be a no strings attached type of thing. It wasn’t supposed to evolve into the type of relationship where their friends actually thought they were dating.

 _I’m not drunk enough to deal with this_ , he thinks.

He digs out the half finished bottle of whiskey in his kitchen and proceeds to drink straight from it, not even bothering to find a clean glass. He doesn’t even move from his place on the kitchen floor when he hears a key scrape in his front door. Jon is quiet as he makes his way into the apartment, and he doesn’t say anything when he finds Theon in the kitchen.

“Of course you have a key,” Theon mumbles, annoyed.

Jon frowns down at him. “You gave me one. I just haven’t used it yet.”

“I did not,” Theon protests.

Jon rolls his eyes as he leans against the doorway. “You did. Because you’re a lazy ass who doesn’t like answering your own door when someone knocks,” he says. “If it makes you feel any better, you were drunk when it happened.”

It does make him feel better, but he doesn’t acknowledge it out loud. Instead he pushes himself up from the floor, clutching at the counter to steady himself. Jon stays where is by the doorway, watching Theon with casual interest. His clothes are rumpled and his hair is disheveled, but he still looks good enough that Theon wants to fuck him right there against the wall.

Theon really, really hates Jon Snow. 

“Why are you even here, Snow?” he asks. 

“You called me,” he says blandly. “And then Robb called me. Said you two were out drinking and that I should check up on you. No idea why he didn’t just do it himself if he was so concerned.”

When Theon chances a glance at Jon’s face, he’s almost startled by the faint traces of worry he finds.

 _Oh_ , he thinks.

What he says is, “We’re not dating.”

But there’s something tight in his voice and in the morning he’s going to blame it entirely on the alcohol. Because there’s absolutely not reason for him to get emotional over Jon Snow. He doesn’t even like Jon, doesn’t like the way he pouts when Theon insults him or the obsession he has with his hair or the way his body feels whenever Theon’s got him pressed down against the bed.

His thoughts must show on his face, because Jon’s lips twitch in amusement and he finally moves away from the door. He curls a hand into the belt loop of Theon’s jeans and tugs him forward, and Theon hates the way arousal churns in his gut, hates the way he moans when Jon leans in to kiss him hard and rough and deep.

“We’re not dating,” Theon insists again.

“If you say so,” Jon says, but he sounds more amused than annoyed, and when Jon kisses him again, Theon can feel his smile against his lips.

“I do say so,” Theon says petulantly.

Jon just slips his hands underneath Theon’s shirt and rakes his nails over his skin in a way that makes Theon hiss in pleasure. Later, once they’re naked and breathless and tangled together on the cool tiles of the kitchen floor, Theon looks at over at Jon’s smug, satisfied expression and his red, kiss swollen lips and his dark curls that are even more disheveled and feels something warm settle in the pit of his stomach. And only then does he allow himself to admit that maybe, just maybe, dating Jon Snow wouldn’t be all that bad.


	12. Jon/Robb - early morning cuddling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompted: _Can you write me a small Jon/Robb fluff piece please? :)_
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://impertinency.tumblr.com/post/59604615692/can-you-write-me-a-small-jon-robb-fluff-piece-please).

 

The fire has long since burnt out by the time Robb wakes. He can hear the faint sound of raindrops pattering against his chamber window, can feel the cool gust of wind that threatens to blow open the shutters.

Beside him, Jon lets out a sleepy murmur and curls closer into Robb as if seeking to steal some of his warmth. Robb smiles and drapes an arm around Jon’s back, his fingers skirting up to card through Jon’s curls. It’s rare that he wakes before Jon, and Robb takes a moment to study his brother’s face, to trace the line of his jaw and lips. Jon is always so sullen, his jaw always clenched in anger, his lips always turned down in a scowl. He looks nothing like that now, and Robb will always treasure the rare moments when Jon looks happy and calm and content.

He places a light kiss on Jon’s forehead, then another on the bridge of his nose, and a third on his cheekbone. He places a fourth, lingering kiss on Jon’s lips, smiling when it causes Jon to stir. Robb untangles himself from Jon’s embrace and hovers over him,the furs slipping away from his body to pool on the bed. There’s a cool chill seeping across the room and it tickles his skin as he moves down Jon’s body, leaving a trail of gentle kisses across Jon’s jaw and neck and collarbone.

Jon stirs again, a muscle in his stomach twitching when Robb brushes a soft hand down his abs.

“I know you’re awake,” Robb says, kissing Jon’s shoulder. “Stop trying to pretend your not.”

“It’s your fault I’m awake,” Jon mumbles, his voice still rough with sleep. He yawns and grabs at the furs, half-heartedly trying to pull them closer. “It’s too cold to be awake.”

“I’ll warm you up,” Robb says. He runs his fingers along the skin of Jon’s hips and thighs, grinning when it makes him shiver. “I’ll keep you here in my bed all morning long if that’s what it takes.”

Jon’s lips quirk even as he rolls his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe, but you love it.”

Jon laughs and tangles his fingers in Robb’s hair, pulling at his curls as Robb sucks a mark into the hollow of Jon’s throat, as he scrapes his teeth along the curve of Jon’s jaw. Jon tilts his head toward Robb, captures his lips in a long, drawn out kiss that quickly turns heated. And soon, they’re laughing as they tumble across the bed, the rain and the cold all but forgotten.

Later, after Robb’s made good on his promise three times over, they lie tangled up in each other, sweaty and breathless, trading soft, lazy, tender kisses as the rain continues to fall outside.


	13. Jon/Robb - Modern AU I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompted: _Can you write a little bit of modern AU about Jon and Robb going to a gig? (inspired by recent pic of Kit and Richard at the iTunes fest naturally)_
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://impertinency.tumblr.com/post/63499375451/can-you-write-a-little-bit-of-modern-au-about-jon-and).

 

Robb buys the tickets for Jon’s birthday. He doesn’t particularly enjoy going to shows - that’s more Jon’s area of interest - but it’s worth it to see Jon’s surprised, delighted expression when he opens the envelope. The venue is a small, loud, dimly lit bar on the other side of the city, and Robb’s hit with a waft of smoke and beer and weed as soon as the door opens.

“You come here often?” he asks, raising his eyebrow.

Jon shrugs and shoulders his way past the crowd, heading for the bar. “Used to come here with Ygritte.”

Robb leaves it at that, and takes the beer Jon offers without comment. Jon doesn’t talk about Ygritte all that often, and Robb doesn’t want to ruin the night by bringing up old, awkward memories. Instead, they lean back against the bar and watch the crowd as they wait for the show to start. The bar gets even louder when the band comes on stage, and soon there’s nothing but the thrum of guitars, vibrations from the speakers, and the scratchy, deep vocals of the lead singer.

The music isn’t Robb’s preferred style, but he enjoys the first half of the show, even if he spends most of it watching Jon instead of the stage. It’s rare that he sees Jon so happy and carefree, and it makes Robb wish that they did things like this more often. He reaches out and tangles their fingers together, the energy of the music and the alcohol he’s been drinking making him feel bold and reckless.

Jon starts at the touch, turns to look at Robb with surprise and just a hint of desire. His eyes scan the crowd before flashing back down at their entwined hands, a strange look on his face. Of the two of them, Jon has always been the one more concerned with getting caught. Which is why Robb finds it absurdly amusing when Jon starts tugging on his hand and leads him over to one of the darker corners of the bar.

“You’re going to miss the rest of the show,” Robb says. He curls a hand around Jon’s neck, pulling him close so they can hear each other over the music. “I paid a lot of money for these tickets.”

“Don’t care. I’ll pay you back,” Jon says, and his voice is husky and deep in a way that sends a thrill down Robb’s spine. His hand is curled tight around Robb’s wrist, and his fingers feel warm against Robb’s skin.

“I can think of a few ways right now.” Robb grins up at him, looping one arm around the small of Jon’s back as he back up against the wall. He hikes up Jon’s shirt a bit and slips his hand underneath, fingers skimming against the skin of his hip.

Jon’s lips quirk slightly, and when he kisses him – hot and hungry and rough – everything around them fades away and even the music seems to become dull and distant.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think this was your plan all along. I know how much you hate places like this,” Jon says.

Robb laughs, leaning his head back against the wall. “Maybe,” he says, running this fingers through Jon’s hair and watching in fascination as Jon’s eyelashes flutter at the touch. “But I wouldn’t mind going to more shows if they all turned out like this.”

Jon rolls his eyes and kisses him again, and they stay like that long after the band’s left the stage and the bar has returned to normal. And later, whenever Robb hears any of the music from that night, all he can think of is Jon pressing him against the dark, hidden wall in the bar and kissing him breathless.


	14. Jon/Robb - Modern AU II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompted: _Modern AU. Jon/Robb- Jon asks Robb for "girl" advice but is really trying to reveal his true feeling for him. They kiss._
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://impertinency.tumblr.com/post/65059840498/prompt-modern-au-jon-robb-jon-asks-robb-for-girl).

 

"I don’t think any of your advice is working.”

Robb frowns and flops onto the bed beside Jon. “I don’t understand. You followed all my instructions, right? You complimented them? Asked them to get coffee or dinner? Made it obvious you were interested? That sort of thing?”

“Yes,” Jon says. He pushes himself up into a sitting position and leans back against the wall, studying Robb with an unusually intense expression. “I think they only see me as a friend. Or they’re not interested.”

Jon doesn’t sound nearly as frustrated as Robb would expect and that, more than anything, is what confuses him. “Or they’re just really stupid if they don’t realize you want to date them.”

Jon looks at Robb with faint amusement. “Maybe.”

“You know, this would be a lot easier if you would give me a name. It’s hard to give you dating advice when I don’t even know who you’re interested in.”

Jon shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

“What, are you embarrassed?”

“No,” Jon snaps, but there’s a flush creeping up the back of his neck all the same.

“Oh my god, you are!” Robb says, delighted. “Is that why you won’t tell me who it is?”

“ _Robb_.”

Robb has a teasing reply on the tip of his tongue, but the nervous, hopeful, longing expression on Jon’s face makes him pause. Something about his expression makes Robb think of the way Jon has been acting lately – the way he teases Robb about his hair and his clothes and his laugh, how he’s been more insistent about going out for dinner together, how he glowers at anyone who tries to approach them in the pub. How he’s been more physically affectionate than usual.

 _Oh_ , Robb thinks, _so what’s why none of my advice worked._

He looks up at Jon. “Do you….?”

“Yeah,” Jon says, voice barely higher than a whisper.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I tried,” Jon says, looking up at him in disbelief. “You didn’t take the hint.”

“Oh,” Robb says, and he feels strangely confused and pleased and relieved. And then, because he’s always been overly curious and impulsive, he leans forward and kisses Jon. It’s clumsy and sloppy, and it doesn’t help that Jon pushes him away barely a second later.

“What are you doing?!”

Robb shrugs. “Taking the hint.”

Jon stares at him for a long moment. “You are such an idiot,” he finally says, his tone full of fond exasperation.

Robb can’t bring himself to feel too insulted by the comment, not when Jon leans in and kisses him again, deep and desperate. At least, he thinks, as Jon pushes him down onto the bed, he now knows that he gives pretty successful dating advice.


	15. Jon/Ygritte - Spy AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompted: _Can I prompt a spy au? Maybe Jon/Robb and/or Jon/Ygritte?_
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://impertinency.tumblr.com/post/65078502231/can-i-prompt-a-spy-au-maybe-jon-robb-and-or).

 

The mission was supposed to be easy: track down a rogue resistance group, infiltrate their ranks, and steal their intel.

It was _not_ supposed to end with Jon naked and tied to the headboard of a bed. It was _especially_ not supposed to end with someone pointing a gun at his head.

“You _lied_ to me,” Ygritte says, and though there’s a slight tremor in her voice, her hands are steady around the gun.

“I didn’t have a choice. I had orders,” he says. He tugs at the cord tied tightly around his wrists, wincing when it digs into his skin.

Everything would have gone a lot smoother if he had actually known Ygritte was part of the group he was tracking. He’s never been able to keep his distance from her which is, he thinks, part of the problem.

(The first time they met, she shot him in the leg. The second time, she locked him in an abandoned warehouse and disabled all his means of communication. They slept together the third, fourth, and fifth times. The sixth time, she slept with him and stole encrypted files from his phone before disappearing off the grid for almost four months.)

When it comes down to it, Jon only has himself to blame for getting into this situation. He’d known that his cover was as good as blown the moment he saw Ygritte, so he’d lied to her – had convinced her that he’d defected to her side. And of course, he’d allowed himself to get so caught up in her again that he’d let his guard down.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he says, tugging at his bonds again, “but can you please untie me?”

Ygritte ignores him, content to rifle through his clothes which are currently scattered across the floor. He watches her pocket a gun and two knives. “I don’t know whether to shoot you or leave you here for someone else to find,” she says.

At this point, Jon honestly thinks he’d rather be shot. “ _Ygritte_.”

“ _Jon_ ,” she mimics. She crosses the room, laying both her gun and her phone far out of reach, before leaning down to give him a long, slow, lingering kiss. Her unbound hair tickles his bare skin when she pulls away. “Until next time, Jon Snow.”

Jon curses up a storm the moment the door clicks shut, and after that’s out of his system, starts working on untying the cord around his wrists. He doesn’t get very far, his fingers bloody and sore after an hour. Just when he’s about to give up, he hears footsteps in the hall and the sound of someone picking the lock of the room.

He doesn’t know whether to be relieved or embarrassed when it’s Robb who steps through the door.

“So, a funny thing happened a couple hours ago,” Robb says, his tone infuriatingly casual. “I received a text from an untraceable number that said you’d be at this location.”

“I was on a mission,” Jon says, sighing and thumping his head back against the bed’s headboard. “Ygritte was involved.”

“Obviously,” Robb says, lips twitching in amusement. “Were you two trying out a new kink?”

“Shut up,” Jon snaps, cheeks burning in embarrassment, “and come untie me.”

(It’s to his utter dismay that Robb not only takes a picture to remember the moment, but that he never lets Jon live it down either.)


	16. Jon/Robb - haircuts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompted: _I don't know if you still do fic prompts but I will try my luck. I've been dying for someone to write a good slashy before and after of the scene where Jon and Robb get there hair cut in episode one! Maybe Robb reassuring Jon he still looks good? Just an idea and you are a fabulous writer :)_
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://impertinency.tumblr.com/post/65548636767/i-dont-know-if-you-still-do-fic-prompts-but-i-will-try).

 

The room smells like sweat and leather and oil. There’s a large fire roaring in the hearth, and the sound of the logs cracking and popping seems loud now that they’re the only two left in the room. Robb grabs the tunic and jerkin he discarded earlier, pulling them over his head and doing up the laces before padding across the length of the room.

Jon is turned away from him, still shirtless and barefoot, his trousers sitting low on his hips. His expression is moody and sullen as he twists the material of his tunic between his fingers.

“Stop sulking,” Robb says. “Your hair looks fine.”

Jon glares at him over his shoulder, and he looks so annoyed that Robb has to bite back a laugh. Jon had been unhappy when he’d learned that they were to get their hair cut before the king’s arrival, but he’d looked utterly miserable the moment the shears had snipped away the first lock of hair. Jon’s always been sensitive about his hair - something Robb likes to tease him about whenever he gets the opportunity - but Robb has never seen Jon this morose about it. He finds it strangely charming.

“You know I don’t like it,” Jon says. His hand flutters as though he wants to reach up and touch his hair, but he refrains, keeping it clenched by his side. 

“I beg to differ,” Robb says. He steps forward, carding a hand through Jon’s hair and tugging gently at the curls. He smiles when Jon automatically tips his face up into the touch. “You certainly seemed to like it that time you had me cut your hair.”

“That was different,” Jon says, a faint flush creeping across his cheeks.

“I suppose,” Robb says, voice low and warm and teasing. He remembers flashes from that night – how Jon shuddered when Robb threaded his fingers through Jon’s curls, the endearingly awkward way Jon had first broached the topic, the overwhelming intimacy of the moment. He had pushed Jon back onto the bed afterward, had kissed him until Jon was squirming and moaning and begging beneath him.

"It was a good night," he says, grinning as he hooks his fingers into the waistline of Jon’s trousers and tugs him forward until they’re pressed together, Jon’s hands coming to rest on Robb’s hips. “I’d never seen you so undone before. I liked it.”

“Of course you did,” Jon says.

Robb returns the kiss, drawing it out until it’s slow and lazy. He presses a kiss against the corner of Jon’s mouth, then another on the curve of his jaw, and another on the long expanse of his neck. 

“I like your hair,” he murmurs between kisses. “It suits you. Makes you look all pretty like a girl.”

"Thanks," Jon says wryly. He slides his hands underneath Robb’s tunic, fingers raking along his lower back. Robb arches into him, moaning against his mouth.

"And," Robb says, pulling back to grin at him, "I like the way you moan when I tug on it during sex."

He twists them around and pushes Jon against the wall before he has a chance to respond, tugging down his breeches with fumbling hands even ash he moves to kneel on the floor. Later, when they’re sweaty and curled together and trading lazy kisses, Robb brushes the damp curls away from Jon’s forehead with a fond smile.

"I really do like it," he says.

"Good," Jon says, there's something warm and pleased in his face when he leans up to kiss Robb.


End file.
